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Wow. What a week. Derby season officially started for the Brawlin’ Betties as we bouted against the Santa Cruz Derby Girls’ Harbor Hellcats last Saturday night. Aptly titled, “The Battle of the Saints,” the bout drama started building the week before with many threats being exchanged between us and, no, not the Hellcats, but the weather Gods at large.

Our normally mild and sunny seaside town had been experiencing a flurry of freezing temperatures, rain, hail and even tornado warnings the week leading up to the bout. Saturday was predicted to be no different. Operating at an entirely outside venue, this can be a problem. However, so many things had been set in motion (programs printed with Saturday’s date, rental chairs ordered, venue paid for, presale tickets completely sold out, visiting team travel reservations secured, just naming a few) that unnecessarily canceling an event is way more than a headache and a half.

So balls to supposed tornado-force wind, the decision was made to forge ahead and hope for the best. Pacts were made, prayers were waged, no-rain dances ensued and, perhaps most importantly, our very own Derby Pope (and if you don’t know Derby Pope, I suggest you go to Facebook and request a Friend Add toot sweet) was consulted on the matter.

Our Bench Coach, Danger Kitty, was granted audience with Derby Pope two days prior to bout time and tendered one question, “Your Eminence, what would God want in return for clear skies on Saturday afternoon?”

Still, the storm continued, dumping buckets of rain and hail. And even late into Friday night, as we gathered for a team-building and carb-loading potluck at P.S. I Shove You’s house, the street gutters turned to rushing river beds. Getting out of the car and hopping to the sidewalk, in and of itself, made one appreciate all the skating leaps and hops rehearsed at many o’ practices.

One cheese dip was lost as it slipped into the rushing gutter and sailed away into darkness. Though, lo’ and behold the cheese was recovered by light of a cell phone under a truck tire a half block away. Maybe God saw this devotion, or maybe Derby Pope was sufficiently gifted. No one really knows. Whatever happened, we all awoke Saturday morning to clear and sunny skies, providing enough time to dry the rink and develop a cocky attitude about our fortune. Facebook boasting started almost as soon as the sunrise.

However, by mid afternoon, enormous thunderheads formed over the mountains and chilling winds began to blow through town. Stories of snow in various parts of city and nearby urban areas started filtering in. Clearly, we were not off the hook. Already lipsticked and fishnetted by this point, we ignored the threat and let it be said a little denial runs A LONG way. Fans poured through the gates and took their seats.

Officials convened, merchandise was sold and beer flowed as looming clouds seemed to be barely wafting southward of us, leveling an errant rain drop here and there. Unwavering, our very own Booty Ninja flawlessly belted out the Star Spangled Banner, bringing tears to eyes. As the first jam started, snowing clouds were visible just a neighborhood away and as the first jam ended enough raindrops were falling that an official time out was called.

Our valiant announcer, Deuce Bagalow, expertly kept the crowd entertained with humorous derby banter, all-the-while promising the squall would pass – almost using the same method of Saturday Night Live’s Subliminal Message Man (if you’re too young and don’t understand, go ask your parents). For about 15 minutes, Deuce peppered her speech with “this squall will pass,” between words, in the middle of sentences, under her breath until the crowd wasn’t even consciously aware of it being said, and until, it did indeed pass. I will never knock mantras and positive affirmations again.

Around the rink, coaches pushed hunched over derby girls who, in turn, were mopping dry towels over the wet mess. Others jumped up with brooms and swept all rain remnants away. Girls raced onto the track, the jam whistle blew and we were back in business.

The Hellcats were awesome competitors and pulled both some impressive moves and strategies. My personal highlights were: 1) When our team captain, Viva Violence! achieved a personal first and scored 30-points in a single jam, and, 2) Seeing our head coach, Dita de los Muertos, get pissed at being in the penalty box then upon release, and with the fury of the Tasmanian Devil, take out two Hellcat blockers and one Hellcat jammer domino style with a single, very well executed hit. That girl is the definition of passion in motion. I’m sure the Santa Cruz Hellcats are more used to colder temps than us, yet we seemed to get the hometown advantage and won the bout 202 – 40.

Before moving on to the after party, I noticed a photo frenzy taking place in one of the back corners of the rink. It struck me as unusual, as most of the post-bout photo fanfare takes place mid-rink. Upon investigation, I came across the raison d’être. Apparently actor Matt Damon was in the house. According to rink gossip (and judging by the black and blue T-shirt he was sporting), Matt has family connections to the Hellcats. However, and to the delight of our ladies, he humbly requested an autograph from our Head Coach, Dita, and our Team Captain, Viva Violence!

Assessments have come and gone. And we now have a whole new derby schedule. I’m really trying to figure out where I belong, and sometimes wondering if I belong. For now, the schedule is one that doesn’t allow for much rink time for my group, which I feel is desperately needed in order to improve. For those of us still working on passing assessments, official skate time has been narrowed to two hours per week, down from the previous six. In addition, that same group of us have formed a ref team, are studying the game and sitting in refereeing scrimmages for the vets, all-the-while working toward passing the next round of assessments mid-year.

In the transition of it all, there seems to be a different feeling that has settled over my team. In fact, I even feel weird saying that – my team. I’m in this strange place of limbo. I’m out of boot camp, in a ref group and still working on passing assessments, but am I really a team member, or “part” of a team, or merely a wannabe? I don’t know. I do know I miss my girls from boot camp and the tight camaraderie we enjoyed practicing together several times a week.

The girls (many of which who are “my girls”) who have passed assessments have now moved on to being Prospects. This means they are training for the upcoming team tryouts. I wonder if this means they are more of a team member than me. And in all honesty, I don’t know if they feel any better off than I do. I watch them practice. In fact, I make a point of it. I figure if my actual skating time is limited, then I will dedicate myself to watching from the box and learning as much as I can.

But when I watch practice from the sidelines, a few things come into mind. One thing for sure is that I’m damn glad I didn’t pass assessments because plain and simple, I’m not ready to do what they’re doing now. But the thing is, I don’t even know, for that matter, if a lot of them feel ready. Some of what I have seen going on in practice highlights the rocky nature of this change we’re all experiencing.

Nothing brings up baggage for people more than change. So lately, when I walk into practice and notice an absence of conversation, shortened smiles and tenser attitudes, I remind myself change can be difficult for people. I try not to take it personally, when I feel slightly more division between veterans and newbies, a division that wasn’t as palpable during boot camp. I know a lot of the nuggets have been feeling weird about this but also think as the dust settles so will the uneasiness.

I completely recognize our coaches have definitely got their work cut out for them. They’re trying to make a “B” league team into an “A” league team, but clearly there’s a lot of work needed to get there. Then there’s this group of newbie Prospects flooding in that ideally will become the new “B” league team, but are nowhere near that level at this current point.

And then there’s this handful of pit bulls, like me, who have clenched on, jaws locked and are refusing to give up.

I think what I’m sensing is perhaps how overwhelmed the coaches feel, like a mother with too many mouths to feed. So with every email notice I get about practice time getting reduced, it’s not just the shaking of a leg designed to test just how determined my resolve is, but perhaps to see how hungry I am. So I’ve chosen to use this as another derby training skill. My mental endurance is getting fine-tuned. I’m smart enough to know that I’m only in the beginning of a long run. Before I even consider getting tired, I remind myself how capable I am of going longer with less to eat than everyone else. I’ve just got to get in the zone and find my happy place.

A while back, I could see this coming like a steam engine and wrote about it in my post called Rainy Days & Sister Wives. But now that it’s here, knowing about it ahead of time doesn’t make it feel any less awkward.

When a team is looking for its strength, and a way to define it, I think it’s important to remember strength comes from unexpected places. And not always from the girls who seem to effortlessly cruise through the rigors, but rather from the determined, thirsty wolves who circle the pack.

Amazing coaches are, well, amazing. I’ve spent years analyzing different coaching styles (including being pissed at a handful of idiots who have the nerve to call themselves coaches) as my son has navigated his way through a childhood of individual and team sports. With years of surfing, skateboarding and hockey under his belt, we’ve also cycled through seasons of baseball and football.

The worst coaches, if you’re lucky, show you how to do something and then expect you to just magically do it. However, the best coaches, have this innate ability to break any skill into a chain of micro actions/movements then pinpoint where in the chain you’re falling short. With creativity, compassion and encouragement they’re able to convey this, re-direct you and deliver an epiphany which, in turn, begins to deliver the correct body memory.

Whenever I’ve worked with my mentor, Lem, and her derby wife, Kiki, I feel like a lucky bitch to have landed in their hands. They are both in the gifted coach category. I’ve written about them before (I Got Kiki La Screw’d and I Liked It), when I was first attempting standing crossovers, so my Lem/Kiki love is nothing new. But last night I was filled with gratitude again.

I’ve been repeatedly working on my plow stop, many times to the point of frustration. I’d watched others do it successfully many times over and it appeared to me that it was all in the ankles, specifically getting them to pivot outward with a good amount of force.

Wrong.

Kiki checked me out and instantly sized me up. I’d been trying to model my plows after two of our team’s most awesome plow stoppers, Semper Fatale and our coach, Dita de los Muertos. They both also happen to be about four-inches shorter than me and weigh at least 160 lbs. less than me. What they do so awesomely simply wasn’t going to work for me. Kiki helped me understand how plows have more to do with core balance and weight distribution (THE most important part of all derby skills) and less to do with pivoting the ankles.

She showed me how to lower my center of gravity, sit into my plows while taking my legs into a wide stance and how, just as a matter of physics, this will bring me to a stop.

“If I told Cherry (tall, strong, beautiful, Amazon!) to stop like Dita and Semper,” explained Kiki, “she’d fall over. It’s that simple. The same goes for you. Stopping in that way isn’t going to work for you.”

So I got it. Pivoting the ankles out is more like icing on the cake. Lowering my center of gravity with a wide leg stance is like the cake itself and is tremendously helping to control my stop.

In addition, Miss Kiki broke down the movements of doing a two-foot weave, something else that has been eluding me. Again, my problem was using my knees instead of my core. Once I started fueling the move from my core (swaying my ribs from side to side and the rest followed), I picked up both speed and rhythm.

Also, I discussed one of my major challenges with Lem – getting up from a fall without putting my hands on the ground. She’s given me a new off-skates homework assignment – practice sitting on the ground, getting on my knees and going to a standing position without using my hands on the ground. If needed in the beginning, use my hands on my thigh for leverage until I have enough strength to go hands-free.

This might seem like simple stuff but when you’re trying to integrate all these new skills, it’s easy to lose track of how to break each skill down into micro movements then paste them all back together again.

A little while back I wrote a list, my directive really, of all the derby skills I need to work on. I have a ways to go, but am making headway! The things I’m starting to accomplish, albeit in a rudimentary fashion:

One-Knee Falls

Two-Knee Falls

One-Knee 180s

Baseball Slides

T-Stops

Plow Stops

Two-Foot Weaves

Hip Whips

Whips

Blocking

My Inventory list of where I still need a lot of work:

Getting up from falls – (as mentioned above) Need to develop more strength to stand up without using my hands.

One-foot glides – Still don’t have the balance or confidence, but I believe the strength is there. I keep practicing standing on one foot when off skates.

One-foot weave – See above.

Crossovers – I can do this in a *very* minimal fashion around a corner. It’s not full and complete. I think I’ve got the concept, just need to go bigger and also figure out how to do it on a straight-away.

Endurance – this is my biggest challenge. I still need to strengthen my cardio a LOT in order to go faster and go longer. I’m definitely improving, but just no where close to where I need to be.

Eight weeks ago I started a journey I knew was way beyond my ability and because of that, it terrified me. I have never taken on a physical challenge like this and it was completely un-chartered territory.

I’m used to doing things I’m good at. This time, however, I put myself directly in the middle of my uncomfort zone, taking on something I knew, initially, I’d suck at. But there’s something about purposefully making yourself uneasy when you know something else greater waits for you on the other side. It builds character – and this time in a way I’ve never experienced. It created an internal sense of confidence which, step-by-step, made my world get bigger, better.

There were times I wanted out. I wanted to quit. I was anxious. I was fearful to the point of hating what I was doing and not knowing why I was continuing to do it. I felt like I didn’t belong and that I was in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing. I felt like crap about myself for not performing well. I was mean to myself. Many times, I fell into the dark abyss of comparing my lacking ability to the better performance of others. There were times I was nearly throwing up during practice. There were times I was throwing up hours before practice. But, despite my doubts and pain, I continued on. Made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands and sealed his fate.

Then I started to hear a common thread emerge. I was reading a score of other fresh meat blogs. I was talking with my own (better performing) nugget compadres. And this thing I was feeling, the shadow side of my experience, was being echoed across the ethers. At first it confounded me to hear it coming from the mouths of those I deeply admire. From those who were inches away from making their endurance requirement of 25 laps in five minutes. From those who had beautiful crossovers. From those who skated wobble-free from the very first night of boot camp.

And then, within the cacophony of this newborn requiem, I recognized it. What I’ve rightly named as Nugget Syndrome: Whereby one’s sense of self confidence and self-esteem is rocked to the core by a new-found obsession which finds itself flying above the rooftops on a towering pedestal. The vastness between reality and the obsession is so great that only a psychic tantrum such as Nugget Syndrome can provide the fuel necessary to propel one’s self forward with enough vigor to reach toward the sky. Maybe van Gogh’s ear wasn’t simply the end of the line, yet the rocket juice he needed to reach a higher plane.

Once I realized this affliction, and its commonness, I got over myself in a big way. On the heels of Viva Violence, our team captain, telling me to STFU after an engulfing whine, I dropped the Syndrome in exchange for getting closer to my destiny. Don’t get me wrong, it served me well, as I imagine it does many others after the starting gun fires. But with all relationships, there comes a time to part ways and move forward with strength. I’m glad I recognized my moment when I did instead of choosing to get stuck with a partnership that had shot its wad. We all know those are only castles burning.

I chose to celebrate my accomplishments and pay homage from where I came. It doesn’t matter how small or big they are in comparison to others. They are mine. And they have given me entrée to a sense of self-respect I have not known before. I leave these eight weeks behind and open my arms to the next phase of my derby life. I will continue working toward passing my assessments and becoming a full-fledged, bouting member of our team.

Touching the stars, or even grasping for them, isn’t easy business or for the faint of heart. It’s a job for crazies, Amazons, warriors and badasses – like me.

Note to Self: When the DJ calls out Couples Skate, do not go for what you imagine to be a romantic glide around the rink with husband when said husband is even more of a rookie than you are – unless falling in a heap ontop of each other is part of the plan. Make no mistake, falling rookie husbands on skates go in the same category as drowning people. They *will* take you down in order to preserve themselves.

I have to give it to our girls. What to do on a rainy day when your home rink is outside and there’s no warehouse willing (yet) to adopt you? Most teams (all sports) would easily call a rain day and that would be that.

But not our ever-adaptive Betties. They rally in the 9th hour (and truth be told, it’s probably why they win most of their bouts).

Dino found a large conference room at UCSB, Semper brought a projector and Viva furnished a strength training/plyo derby workout vid, “Roller Derby Workout with the Heart Attacks.”

I love how our Betties get stuff done! There doesn’t seem to be any problem they can’t resolve. From little stuff (rained out practice dates) to big stuff (throwing an absolutely successful outdoor fundraiser in the middle of December). To me, these things truly highlight how well they function as a team.

I often wonder what it’s like for them to be training a group of nuggets that are sure to change the tight team dynamic they’ve lovingly cultivated and achieved. This doesn’t mean it will change for the worse. But NO doubt, the team will be a different team with new members. Makes me think of the show Sister Wives (yeah, that’s right, I’m not too proud to admit watching weirdo polygamist reality TV).

In the last season of Sister Wives, there are three wives who have all been married to the same dude for like the last 16 years, and they are all about to accept a new wife into the clan. This is because their husband has decided to take on another one. They all believe and get behind this concept, but it doesn’t mean that it comes without its bumps. They believe, in the end, an additional wife will make them stronger, better, more capable, and yeah, one more set of hands can really help out with their enormous workload (three wives, two incomes, one husband and, like, a kazillion kids).

So, like the new Sister Wife who is about to get married into the clan, I want the Betties to like me. I want them to accept me. But I also feel protective of what they’ve managed to achieve before I, and all the other nuggets, arrived. I want to tread lightly and integrate at a natural pace. It’s weird because as tough and capable they are as individuals and as a team, there’s also this beautiful fragility amongst them. I so totally want to get to the point where I can be a full-fledged member of this team, and allthewhile, I want their bubble to stay protected. Does that make any sense?

………………..

Meanwhile, Back to our Rainy Day Workout . . .

The Heart Attack girls (from the Roller Derby Workout vid) were a little on the corny side (gotta love the coordinated neon bright leotard getups with matching skate wheels and laces), with their tagline for the video being, “You don’t have to be a roller derby girl to be a knockout, but it doesn’t hurt to train like one.” Alrighty, lol.

But big time props to them for producing it and getting it out there. The exercises were pretty standard, but definitely do the trick on a rainy day. And the music was actually pretty good for a low-budge production.

The workout is led by five derby girls: Shiv, Biodiesel, Go-Go, Estro Jen, and Punk N’ Da Trunk. All these gals reign from the Angel City Derby Girls in L.A., however, (except for Shiv) all of which seem not to be with the ACDG any longer.

My favorite was Punk because she was like a jacked up Barbie version of our own coach, Dita de los Muertos. I kept imagining she was really Dita in costume, sarcastically making fun of Barbie-type derby girls. As I was leg lunging, I was day-dreaming about Dita walking in on the set and kicking this girl’s ass. Is that terrible? I know derby girls are super supportive of one another, even after battling it out in a tense bout – all friends at the end. But my mind kept wandering off as I concocted some twisted derby version of Westside Story where MAK and Dita would skate in and physically/psychologically decimate the workout Barbie girls. Off the wall? It’s okay, I don’t deny it.

OMG! Tuesday night’s practice was magic. Not only did we get to practice whips and knocking girls on their ass, I had so much fun doing it that I wasn’t even focusing on the fact I was skating. I made it through nearly the entire practice without having to sit down. I missed the last 10 minutes (wall of Violence), but was entirely proud of getting through the one hour and fifty minutes that it didn’t matter.

This is a milestone in SO many ways that I cannot stop smiling. First of all, it means that all the strength training and repetition is paying off. I am getting strong. It means instead of skating around the outside doing my modified versions of the skills, I was in the pack! I don’t want to give any wrong impressions here. There were no Ellen Page moments where suddenly I went from not knowing how to skate to being a badass Jammer. However, I was “my own hero,” and badass enough for me. Especially since I had spent the entire day throwing up and in bed but I rallied and got myself to practice. 😀

Blocking and knocking down was so much fun that, as my girl PTS Dee says, “these hips were made for blocking.” How to describe the satisfaction of throwing a booty and shoulder into a girl and watch her fly off course? It’s waaaaaaaay better than bowling. Misfit and Hiss were awesome coaches and very patient with me. And the excitement of looking over my shoulder for another victim while hearing LOC yell, “Come on Stacy! Knock one down!” was awesome. I can see/feel how this is only the baby beginnings of an addiction, the tip of the iceberg.

My husband (Scott), son (Cousteau) and I met Storm and Dee down in Ventura at Skating Plus on Wednesday night. Dee and I showed Storm some of the whips and pushing exercises she missed Tuesday. Though, it was a much milder version (we were still sore from the night before). Cousteau even got in the mix and practiced whips with Dee.

Scott got on skates for the first time since he was eight and rocked it for his first time. When I first got back on skates, I clung to his arm for two weeks straight before I could even stand on my own. Not Scott, even though Frankensteining his way around, he was up and on his own cruising around the track for two hours. I give credit to his skateboarding for giving him a giant beginner’s bump. I’m thrilled that he wants to become a derby ref as well as start playing some hockey. We’re an all-urethane family now.

These quotes were taken from a recent Huffington Post article. Love them!

“Unemployed? Fat? A lawyer? Rich housewife? Who cares? We all smell the same at the end of practice. It’s a “no judgment zone” where everyone can let their freak flag fly.”~ Blonde Phantom, 47, Providence Roller Derby

“I never want to be that woman who lets fear keep her from doing new things or the things she really wants to do. I tell people “It’s not a tragedy to die doing what you love to do. The tragedy is dying never having done what you always wanted to do.”~ Vi Suvius, 50, Ventura County Derby Darlins

“There will be nursing homes filled with cranky old women who don’t want to be babied and will hip check anyone trying to force them to do something.”~ Patti Wackin, 40, Kansas City Roller Warriors

“Derby gives women a place where they belong, especially women who don’t fit in anywhere else. I have always been a take-charge kind of woman and usually felt like a fish out of water in traditional woman’s groups, but I have always felt accepted for myself among derby women.”~ Batterin’ Gram, 56, Minnesota Roller Girls

“My opponents don’t care how old I am, and I don’t care how old they are. If I’m a blocker, I’m gonna hit you. If I’m a jammer, I’m gonna fight my way through the pack to score on you.”~ Kona Krusher, 49, Fort Wayne Derby Girls

“I wonder, with so many thousands of women across the world playing this sport now, how will this change the fabric of society down the road? I can’t wait to find out. This is so tangibly and dramatically different from any other phase of the women’s movement so far”~ Cat O’Mighty, 51, Central Mass Roller Derby

“Seriously, there is no finer feeling than sweeping some girl off her skates with a solid hipcheck. Sounds crazy, but I love getting hit, too, short of being carried off the track. The day Madame Magenta knocked me flying into the inside oval, I was thrilled for her. ‘Nice hit, grasshopper!’”~ Flash Hottie, 55, Windy City Rollers

I’ve had to take my own path with Boot Camp. It’s been hard watching everyone progress so much faster than me. But I’ve decided not to feel bad about this. I decided this a while ago actually. It only makes me feel like crap and it does nothing to move me forward.

So what does this mean? I go to practice, I watch the instruction carefully – committing it to memory for later use, and then I find my own versions of practicing/learning those skills. Sometimes I stick to the wall. Sometimes I sit down while everyone else is still going strong. Sometimes I skate around the outside, singing in my head, “Buffalo gals go ‘round the outside.”

I often have to separate myself from the group to do these things. And I’ll admit, it unpacks some old baggage I have left from the time in my life where I had to watch life go by instead of being able to jump in and fully participate.

When I weighed 450 lbs., watching life go by was what I did all the time, and I did it with profound sadness. But I also did it with resolve and intent that nobody pitied me. I’m sure some pitied me anyway, but I never opened the door or invited it in.

However, in some ways, I still find myself there – feeling like I’m watching as life goes by; as radically different as my life and access to freedom is now. I’m sure a small amount of other nuggets feel a sense of pride because of me. By comparison, they can feel good about a day’s work because they tell themselves they pushed their limits and never sat out on the sidelines. They, in whatever small or big way, accomplished their newly assigned skill instead of watching it be accomplished.

When I catch wind of this happening, I fantasize about increasing some skinny bitch’s body size 2 ½ times and imagining how she would feel weighing 280 lbs., trying to accomplish what I’ve been accomplishing. I can tell you this much; When I get out there and do what I do for two hours, it’s fucking exhausting, no matter how little it looks like I’m doing in comparison to everyone else. And, then, compared to how my life used to be – it’s a breeze.

But from the ABSOLUTE vast majority of everybody, I feel sheeeeeeeer, overwhelming love and support. I can hear and feel my teammates all rooting for me – the Betties, the refs, the NSOs, the other nuggets. And it’s awesome. I can’t even tell you how much it means to me or how awesome it is.

So I keep showing up. I keep using everyday as a chance to build strength in one way or another. I keep getting on my skates and beating back the fear of maiming myself. I keep promising myself it will get better, that it will get easier and more freedom is right around the corner. And I dream, every single goddamn night – until I’m exhausted sometimes – about flying around the track like it’s in my blood.

Boot Camp tonight. The rink will be open early so I’m going to try and get some extra practice in. What we’ve learned so far:

Butt Falls

1-Knee Falls

2-Knee Falls

1-Knee 180

Baseball Slide

Figure 4s

Sticky Feet

1-Foot Glides

T Stops

Plow Stops

Weaving

Derby Step

Derby Hop

Leaping

Jumping

Cross Overs

I’ll be starting at the top and going over these skills one at a time until I get them right.

This won’t all happen tonight, obvi. But as I go forward, this is my list. Last night I did a plyometric exercise for about an hour and a half. This morning I braved the 40-degrees outside and went down to Los Banos for a swim. It was actually a beautiful morning – crisp and sunny, though cold as shit. One thing about swimming when it’s cold out; Getting in the normally very cold water, not so bad – a 25-degree improvement.

Strength, strength, strength. The more I can build, the better off I’ll be.

I had a couple of good falls last Saturday during our beach skate adventure. The first fall was textbook but still yielded a large ass bruising. The second fall was out of control and sent my knee bending in an akward and painful way. I’ve been paying for it ever since. I’d much rather deal with a bruised ass, than a weak-feeling ligment in my knee that sends sharp pains when I bend it the wrong way. So tonight’s practice: a knee brace plus butt falls, 1-knee falls and 2-knee falls.

Derby is my physical metaphor. I’m 45 and have some demons to beat down. Bring it.